


A Certain Kind of Sadness

by autumnlouise



Series: Baby, It's Cold Outside [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnlouise/pseuds/autumnlouise
Summary: Sherlock helps Molly get through a Bad Day.





	A Certain Kind of Sadness

It was cold, it was gray and rainy and wintry, and Molly Hooper was having a Bad Day. Not a  _ bad day _ , lowercase, as in spilled coffee on her jumper and Toby leaving a hairball in her slippers, but a  _ Bad Day _ , with capital letters and an empty kind of sadness inside of her and no motivation to get out of bed. She felt it as soon as she woke up that morning; there was a heaviness that settled on her shoulders, in her chest, and she just couldn’t shake it. 

She didn’t know how, but she managed to get herself out of bed and pulled herself together enough to go to work. She wanted to stay home and call in sick, but she’d woken up at the last possible minute and had no time to ask Stamford to call in a replacement. So she put on the first things she touched, pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and dumped some food in Toby’s bowl before running out the door and to the subway station as fast as her body would allow her. Everything felt like it was in slow motion. She couldn’t make herself go faster than a brisk walk.

She was twenty minutes late to work. Mike asked if she was all right, and she just brushed him off with a snapped “overslept”, and then made her way to the lab. Apart from him, nobody seemed to notice that anything was off with her. No one asked questions. No one noticed that the usually chatty pathologist was silent. They merely left her to her work as she stared into a microscope, testing blood for an experiment. But really she was just sitting there, staring at the little molecules on the glass strip and wondering why she felt so numb. She had an essay for a science journal she needed to be working on, autopsies that needed to be done, but all she could do was just  _ sit there _ and do absolutely  _ nothing. _

After what must have been a few hours, the lab door opened, and in strolled one Sherlock Holmes. Molly looked up from her microscope for the first time in a long while– her neck cramped as she did so, and she let out a hiss of pain. She didn’t want to deal with Sherlock today. She just didn’t have the energy to do whatever it was he required of her. 

She was just about to tell him that when, after taking one look at her, he said, “Come with me. You’re going home.”

“What? Why? Sherlock, I’m working.” she protested, but the fight in her voice was weak. 

“No, you’re not. You’re having a Bad Day.” he insisted, reaching for her hand. Molly pulled it away and crossed her arms; it was so unfair that he could read her so easily! She’d been trying, at least a little bit, to look pulled together. 

“Sherlock, just forget about it. I have work to do.” 

The detective looked incredulous. “It can wait,” he said, and before she could argue, he hoisted her into his arms and was carrying her, bridal-style, out of the lab. “Up you go. You’ll thank me later.”

Molly really didn’t have the energy to protest. He was right; any work she’d thought about getting done today was just going to sit in her inbox anyways. Why suffer in silence at Barts when she could be comfortable at home? Crawling back in bed did sound better than this, at least… 

He set her upright once they left the lab, but took her hand to guide her down the stairs and outside, where a cab was waiting for them. He directed the driver to her apartment, and then for the rest of the ride, they sat in silence. He didn’t let go of her hand. He didn’t ask her what was wrong, either. She appreciated both of those things very much. 

Because sometimes there wasn’t anything  _ wrong _ – sometimes she just felt like this and she had no idea why. And sometimes she didn’t need the cheesy reassurance, ‘it-will-get-better’ pep talks people liked to give. Quiet, steadfast support was enough. 

As soon as they got to her flat, Molly flopped onto the couch. Oh, it was so nice to be home. Her soft sofa cushions and the comfort of Toby coming to greet her was  _ so  _ much better than being stuck at Barts all day. Sherlock took off his coat and came to kneel in front of her, gently asking, “Is there anything I can do?”

Molly shook her head, scratching behind Toby’s ears as she did so. “I just have to ride it out.”

“No.” Sherlock said, brows furrowing, “You misunderstand me, Molly. Not to fix you or make you happy… but to make you more comfortable now. While you, as you say, ‘ride it out’.”

His words touched Molly. If she hadn’t been limited to a very small range of emotions at that moment, she probably would have cried. “Just don’t leave me alone.” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Your company is enough.”

He obliged her. Not only did he stay and keep her company, putting off whatever case he’d been working on when he came into the lab, but he also brought her a blanket, heated up her leftover takeaway, and turned on the telly for her. When Molly was at last settled in his eyes, Sherlock sat down on the couch beside her. After she ate a few bites of her food, she laid down again and put her head in his lap.

She watched the sitcom that was playing with little interest- her eyes were fixed on the screen but unfocused. She could hear a laugh track running in the background, but she didn’t know what was so funny. She was half immersed in her own mind, half aware of the world around her. Her thoughts were a mixture of the emptiness inside her and the feel of Toby curled against her, the sound of the telly and the ringing in her ears… Sherlock’s fingers running through her hair… 

Her eyes closed.

When she opened them again, she found herself not on the couch, but in her bedroom. The lights were dimmed, but not completely turned off, and she was tucked under the covers. She must have fallen asleep on the couch, and Sherlock had carried her in here… how sweet of him. 

That’s when she realized there was someone in the bed beside her. Sherlock. She rolled onto her other side to face him, eyes wide in shock. Once the detective realized she was awake, he turned his attention to her, smiling softly.

“What’re you doing?” she asked groggily.

“Not leaving you alone,” he whispered back, opening his arms to her. “Come here, Molly.”

Some part of her thought that this wasn’t a good idea– something in the back of her mind about ruining their friendship. But her heart won out over her head, and she scooted over so that she was in his arms, tucked against his chest. She sighed contentedly, cocooned in his warmth. “Thank you.” 

Sherlock looked at her, still smiling. As he spoke, he rubbed her back in gentle circles. “Molly, I will always be here for you, for better or for worse. For the Bad Days and the good ones, too.” and then he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

Molly thought that sounded quite romantic. But before she could tell him so, her eyes closed again, and she felt herself relaxing and falling asleep… 

It might have been a Bad Day, Molly thought drowsily, but at least she had the comfort of a friend by her side. And at least it had ended as close to perfect as a Bad Day could get: snuggled in the arms of Sherlock Holmes. 


End file.
